Sicilian's Christmas Bride Page 8

  “You know I wouldn’t.” Her eyes filled with angry tears. “Why did you do it? You’re taking my house. My livelihood. What more do you want?”

  He wasn’t going to answer. She could tell by the way he was looking at her but it didn’t matter. She already knew the answer. What he’d done to her wasn’t sufficient. He wanted to give the knife one more twist.

  How? she thought bitterly. How could she have made love with a man like this? How could she have even believed she’d fallen in love with him? Because she had believed it, yes. That was why she’d left him, because she knew he didn’t love her, wouldn’t love the child they’d created together. She’d left rather than see him look at her as he was looking at her now, as if she had no meaning to him at all.

  She took a deep breath, drew what remained of her pride around her like a ragged cloak and started past him.

  “Taylor.”

  She shook her head. She had nothing left to say to him.

  His hand closed on her wrist. “You asked me questions. Are you going to leave before you hear the answers?”

  She looked pointedly from his hand to hers. “Let go.”

  “I didn’t bring you to New York on false pretenses.”

  She laughed. “You didn’t, huh?”

  “Isn’t that what I just said?”

  “Well, let’s see. You got someone to offer me a commission decorating these offices. He mentioned a budget big enough to make my head spin. Oh, and he said there’d be an apartment with the rent a perk of the job.” Tally tugged her hand free and put her hands on her hips. “If those aren’t false pretenses—”

  “The offer is real. All of it. The commission, the budget, the place to live.”

  Everything from shock to distrust to outright utter disbelief showed in her face. He tucked his hands in his trouser pockets and kept his tone as flat as his eyes.

  “It’s all yours, if you want it.”

  She stared at him. “Why?”

  “There’s an old saying about not looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

  “I know the saying. Maybe it lost something in the translation. What it means is that an unexpected gift is a gift to beware of.”

  Dante took a deep breath. “The child,” he said.

  “What child?” Tally felt her heart beat quicken. Did he know? Had he somehow learned the truth of her pregnancy? “You mean—you mean Sam?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “What about her?”

  “I’ve had time to think.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “And I realized that it’s wrong to punish her for your behavior.”

  He didn’t know. Tally almost sagged with relief.

  “Your daughter is innocent of all that happened. You deceived me. You left me. But none of that is her doing. The world is filled with children who suffer because of the behavior of adults. I see no reason to add to their number.”

  She stared at him. Dante Russo, showing compassion to a little girl he thought had been fathered by another man? Why would he show compassion at all? All the months they’d been lovers, she’d waited, she’d yearned to see some show of human emotion in this man.

  She never had.

  Oh, he supported charities. Smiled at things that were amusing. Frowned at things that were annoying.

  But he never lost his composure. Not even in bed.

  Not that he wasn’t an incredible lover. He was. Alert to her every sigh, her every unspoken desire. He’d given her more pleasure than she’d ever imagined possible.

  The way he moved inside her.

  The way he brought her to climax.

  And yet, he’d always been in control. Always, except that one night when he’d been as tender as he was wild, when she’d asked him to stay with her.

  When she’d conceived Samantha.

  “Well?”

  Tally blinked. Dante was looking at her with barely veiled impatience.

  “You asked me why I’d offer this assignment to you and I told you the reason. It’s your turn now. Will you accept it? Or will you turn it down because I’m the man making the offer?”

  Something was wrong. She felt as if she were looking at a jigsaw puzzle with one piece—the key piece—missing.

  “Yes or no?”

  She almost laughed. The imperious tone of voice. The straight posture. The cold eyes that said, “I’m in command.”

  Except, he wasn’t.

  He couldn’t order her around. She wouldn’t permit it. She had to think. Nothing was happening the way it was supposed to. She’d worried about being in the same city with this man and now it turned out she’d be working for him.

  Impossible.

  Better to go home…and do what? Lose the house? Move to a furnished room? Take whatever job she could find? Earn barely enough to live on and, oh yes, impose on Sheryl’s kindness by asking her to watch Sam?

  “Taylor, I want an answer!”

  There was only one answer, but she couldn’t bring herself to give it. Not without making him wait.

  “I’ll call you with my decision.”

  His eyes narrowed. She tried to move past him as quickly as possible, but his hand clamped down on her shoulder.

  “Would you put your pride before the welfare of your daughter?”

  “Nice, Dante. Really nice.” Tally’s eyes blazed with anger. “Don’t you try and lay this on me! I never ignored Sam’s welfare and I sure as hell never tripped over my own oversize ego! You’re the one who came to Shelby, who bought a bank just so you could tear my child’s life to pieces.”

  “That wasn’t my intention.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s what you did.”

  “Yes. And now, I intend to undo it. I will not avenge myself by hurting a child.”

  “My God, listen to you! So high and mighty. So godlike. Anyone would think you have a conscience. Maybe even a heart.”

  “Damn you, Taylor!” His fingers dug into her flesh as he pulled her to him. “I want to do the right thing. Why make it so difficult?”

  And, in that moment, it came to her. The missing piece of the puzzle. What he’d just called doing the right thing. If that was his intention, there was a much easier way to do it. Why wasn’t he taking it?

  “If you’re serious about not wanting my little girl to pay the price of your revenge—”

  “Interesting,” he said silkily, “how you manage to misquote me, cara. I said I would not avenge myself through her. We both know what that means, that your daughter should not pay the price of your unfaithfulness.”

  “Put whatever twist you like on it. The point is, if you’ve suddenly turned into the male counterpart of Mother Teresa, why go through all this? Why not simply stop the foreclosure proceedings?”

  There it was, the million-dollar question. The question he’d asked himself a dozen times since coming up with this idea. His attorney and his accountant, each of whom knew only small details of the overall situation, had finally asked it, too, but he hadn’t given them any explanations.

  A man who answered to no one but himself didn’t have to.

  That didn’t mean it wasn’t a damned good question. All he had to do was have the loan payments rescheduled. Or tear up the documents altogether.

  End of problem.

  Nothing else made sense. Not to his attorney, to his accountant, to him and now to Taylor, who was looking at him with her eyebrows arched.

  Dante frowned. She could look at him any way she liked. He didn’t owe her an explanation, either.

  “It’s too complicated to explain.”

  Her smile was thin. “Try.”

  “There are banking laws. Rules. And I’ve already set the foreclosure procedure in motion.”

  “And I’ll unset it by repaying the loan with my earnings from this job.” Another thin smile. “Try again.”

  For a second, he looked blank. “You’d see it as charity. You’d never accept it.”

  It was a good save. The sudden lift of her eyebrows told him so.
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  “This way, you’ll work for the money,” he said, feeling his way carefully through the explanation that had suddenly come to him and knowing it was flawed. Give her too much time, she’d realize that. “I’m simply offering you a practical way out of your dilemma.”

  Yes, Tally thought. That was how it seemed—but then, the fly that had wandered into the spider’s parlor had probably thought she was being asked in for a cup of tea.

  And yet, what was the alternative? Could she really say no to his offer and condemn Samantha to financial uncertainty? Besides that, he was right. She’d be working for this money. No favors given, no favors asked.

  “Well?”

  She looked up. Dante was scowling. Obviously, he had none of her reservations about them being in close contact.

  “I can’t spend the entire day at this, Taylor. I need an answer. Will you take the job or won’t you?”

  She took a deep, steadying breath. “I’ll take it.”

  Something flashed in his eyes. Triumph, she thought, but then it was gone, he was smiling politely and holding out his hand. She stared at it. Then, carefully, she extended her hand, too, felt his callused palm against hers as they shook hands.

  “I want certain assurances,” she said quickly.

  “We’ve already sealed the deal. But go ahead. I’ll try and accommodate you. What assurances do you want?”

  “Our relationship will be strictly business.”

  He didn’t say anything. His expression didn’t change. Was that agreement or was he waiting to hear more?

  “Our meetings will occur in public places.”

  “Such logical choices, cara. I’m impressed. Is that all?”

  “No. It isn’t.” She folded her arms. “You’re not to call me that.”

  “What? Cara?” He laughed. “You’re my employee. I’ll call you anything I like.”

  “I’m not your employee. We’ll be working together. Either way, calling me cara would be improper.”

  He smiled, and her heart rose into her throat because everything she’d feared about him, everything she’d adored about him, was in that smile.

  “Ah. I understand now.” He cupped her elbows. Slowly, inexorably, he drew her closer. “You’re afraid our relationship will become personal.”

  “It won’t,” she said stiffly. “How could it, when you’re the last man on earth I’d want to become personal with?”

  “I used to call you cara when you were in my arms. When I was making love to you.”

  Taylor’s breath caught. The sound of his voice at those moments. The feel of his hands on her breasts. The darkness of his eyes as he’d slipped his hands beneath her, as he entered her. Slowly, so slowly, until she cried out with pleasure at the feel of him deep, deep inside her…

  “No,” she said, “I don’t remember. Why would I? It meant nothing. It meant—It meant—”

  Dante stopped her lies with a kiss.

  Fight him, she thought desperately, don’t let him do this to you.

  But the terrible truth was, he was doing what she had dreamed of. What she ached for. She loved the feel of his mouth on hers. The scent of his skin. The way he moved his hands down her spine and lifted her against him so that his erection pressed against her belly.

  “Kiss me back,” he said, his voice a rough command, and her treacherous body responded, her lips parted and when they did, he thrust his tongue into her mouth and she felt it happening as it always did, her breasts swelling, her bones melting, her body readying for his possession…

  Her heart yearning for what he would never give her.

  Tally wrenched free of his embrace.

  “No.” Her voice was hoarse. “I don’t want that from you. Not anymore.”

  He said nothing for a long moment. Then he let go of her.

  “As you wish.”

  “As I insist.”

  “Please,” he said coolly, “no ultimatums. You made your point. And now…”

  He glanced at his watch, then plucked his cell phone from his pocket and made a brief call. It was like a slap in the face, a way of telling her that the kiss had meant nothing to him.

  “I’ve arranged for my driver to come for you.”

  “That’s not necessary. My hotel—”

  “I’ve checked you out of your hotel.” His hand clasped her elbow; he moved her into the elevator with determined efficiency. “Carlo will take you to your rooms.”

  “Rooms?” she said, as the elevator plunged toward the lobby. “Aston said an apartment.”

  “The rooms for you and your daughter are a separate suite within an apartment.”

  “Whose apartment?” Tally said, heart suddenly racing.

  His eyes met hers. “Mine,” he answered.

  Before she could respond, the doors swept open on the lobby and Dante handed her over to his waiting driver.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DID HE REALLY THINK she’d live in his apartment?

  Not even if the alternative was a tent pitched in the Millers’ backyard.

  Tally let Dante’s driver take her to Central Park West but only because she had to go there if she wanted to reclaim her luggage.

  She’d get it, write the imperious Mr. Russo a note telling him, in exquisite detail, what he could do with his contract, phone for a taxi and leave. No. This time, she’d face him. She would not forgo that pleasure.

  The driver was new but the doorman was the same as in the past. He greeted her by name, as if three long years had not gone by since her last visit. So did the housekeeper, who added that it was good to see her again.

  “This way, miss,” she said pleasantly, gesturing not to the library or the dining room or the sitting room, all the places—the only places—Tally had seen when she and Dante had been involved, but to the graceful, winding staircase.

  “Thank you,” Tally said, “but I’ll wait for Mr. Russo in the library. If someone would just bring me my suitcase…?”

  “Your things are already upstairs, miss. I’ll show you to your rooms.”

  Arguing seemed pointless. Her quarrel was with Dante, not with his staff. She followed the housekeeper to a door that led into a sitting room as large as her entire house back in Vermont.

  “Would you like some tea, miss?”

  What she’d have liked was some strychnine for her host, but Tally managed a polite smile.

  “Nothing, thank you.”

  “Ellen’s unpacked your things. If you’re not pleased with how she’s arranged your clothes, just ring.”

  But I’m not staying, Tally started to say, except, by then the housekeeper had disappeared.

  Dante wasn’t just arrogant, he was presumptuous. She could hardly wait to see him and tell him so, but where was he? And when was the last train to Shelby? Eight? Nine? She intended to be on it. No way could she afford a night in a hotel now that her prospective job had turned out to be a farce.

  Tally took out her cell phone and dialed Sheryl to see how Sam was and to tell her that the plans that had seemed so magical had fallen apart, but there was no answer. What a time to be reminded that cell service in Shelby wasn’t always what you hoped.

  Was nothing going to go right today?

  Twenty minutes passed. Thirty. Tally frowned. Paced the sitting room. Checked her watch again. Damn it, she didn’t have time for this! She’d wait another half hour, then give up the pleasure of confronting Mr. Russo and his monumental ego.

  Getting on that train, getting back to Sam and the real world, was more important. In fact, why was she wasting time waiting for Dante when she could be packing? She didn’t need a maid to toss things into a suitcase.

  Chin lifted, Tally marched through the sitting room, though a light-filled bedroom, to a door she assumed led to a closet…

  Her breath caught.

  The door didn’t open on a closet. It opened on a room meant for a very lucky little girl.

  For Samantha.

  The walls were painted cream and decorat
ed with murals that spoke of fairy tales, princesses and unicorns. The carpet was pale pink. The crib and furniture were cream and gold. A rocker stood near the window, a patchwork afghan draped over it. Tucked away in one corner, a playhouse shaped like a castle rose toward the ceiling, guarded by a family of plush teddy bears.

  The room was a little girl’s dream.

  For a heartbeat, Tally’s mood softened. She could imagine her daughter’s excitement at such wonders.

  Then she came to her senses and saw the room for what it really was.

  Did Dante think he could bribe her into staying?

  She turned on her heel. There was nothing she’d brought to the city she couldn’t do without. To hell with packing. To hell with confronting Dante. All she wanted was to go home.

  Quickly she left the suite, went down the stairs and headed straight for the private elevator…

  But it was already there.

  The doors slid open just as she reached them and she saw Dante standing in the mahogany and silver car.

  Dante, with Samantha curled in his arms.

  The blood drained from Tally’s head.

  Of all the things she’d imagined happening this day, she’d never envisioned this. Not this. Not her former lover, with his daughter in his arms.

  Sam was so fair. Dante was so dark. And yet—oh, God—and yet they were so right together. The same softly curling hair. The same wide eyes and firm mouths, curving in the same smiles as they looked at each other, Dante with a softness of expression Tally had never seen in his face before, Sam babbling happily about something in a two-year-old’s combination of real and made-up words.

  Dante and Samantha. A father and his daughter.

  The ground tilted under Tally’s feet.

  Blindly she stuck out a hand in a search for support. She must have made a sound because suddenly Dante looked up and saw her.

  His smile faded. “Cara?”

  I’m fine, she said. Or tried to say. But the words wouldn’t come, nothing would come but another soft sound of distress. Dante barked a command. His housekeeper ran into the room, took Sam from him, and then it was Tally who was in Dante’s arms, his strong arms, and he was carrying her swiftly through the apartment.

  “Cara,” he said again, “Tally…”